Harvey Sherman tells his friend Alex Reisner about the "shot heard 'round the world," when the Brooklyn Dodgers lost the pennant to the New York Giants on Oct. 3, 1951. Sherman was a teenager at the time and was rooting for the Dodgers.

Thomas Morris was a U.S. Postal Service worker for 28 years. He was working in Washington D.C. when anthrax laced letters targeting senators and major media outlets appeared in the mail. He was one of two postal workers who died in October 2001 as a result of these biochemical attacks. His widow, Mary Morris, came to StoryCorps to remember their life together–starting with the day they met at a family funeral.

In late August, 1963, the March on Washington led hundreds of thousands of Americans to the Lincoln Memorial, where Martin Luther King gave his famous, “I have a Dream” address, calling for racial equality.

Lawrence Cumberbatch walked from New York City to Washington DC in order to participate.

The 16-year-old made the trek with Brooklyn’s chapter of the Congress of Racial Equality, known as CORE.

His parents thought two weeks on the open road was too dangerous for a teenager, and, as Lawrence told his son, Simeon, at StoryCorps, they tried to dissuade him.

In late June 2014, county clerks in Colorado challenged a ban on same-sex marriage by issuing marriage licenses to gay and lesbian couples. The state attorney general has ordered them to stop, and the case has reached the Colorado Supreme Court.

But few know that this is history repeating itself.

Back in 1975, Clela Rorex was the newly-elected County Clerk in Boulder when she began issuing marriage licenses to same sex couples.

At StoryCorps, Clela (R) told her friend, Sue Larson (L), that it started one day when two men came to her office door.

On the day this story was broadcast, the Colorado Supreme Court ordered County Clerks in the state to stop issuing marriage licenses to same-sex couples.

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Isaac Feliciano, a longtime worker at Brooklyn's historic Green-Wood Cemetery, remembers being at his job on September 11, 2001, when his wife, Rosa Maria Feliciano, was killed while working in the World Trade Center.

Isaac Feliciano has been working at Brooklyn’s historic Green-Wood cemetery for 21 years. He has done many jobs there and is currently a field foreman, supervising landscape and maintenance workers on the grounds.

On September 11, 2001 he dropped his wife off at the subway so she could get to her job at Marsh & McLennan in the South Tower of the World Trade Center. He then headed to work at Green-Wood.

In the summer of 2010, following her junior year of high school, Emma McMahon left her home in Tucson, Arizona, and traveled to Washington, D.C., to work as a page for her local Congresswoman, U.S. Representative Gabrielle Giffords.

Following her internship, she returned home to her family, but without one important memento from her summer—a photo of herself with the congresswoman.

Looking to rectify the situation, her mother, Mary Reed, learned months later that Rep. Giffords would be holding a constituent meet-and-greet in the parking lot of an area shopping center and made plans for her family to attend and finally get that coveted photo.

That was the day, January 8, 2011, that Jared Lee Loughner opened fire on a crowd outside of the Safeway critically wounding Gabby Giffords and shooting 18 others—six of whom were killed.

Mary, one of those who were shot that day, came to StoryCorps with Emma to remember the day she shielded her daughter from a gunman.

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Vincent Chin was a 27-year-old draftsman living near Detroit. On a June night in 1982, he and a group of friends went out to celebrate his wedding, which was just few days away.

At a bar he crossed paths with Ronald Ebens and Michael Nitz, two auto workers angry about recent layoffs which were widely blamed on Japanese imports. That encounter lead to Vincent’s death.

Gary Koivu was with Vincent that night, and he recently came to StoryCorps with his wife, Kim, to remember his childhood friend.

The federal case against Vincent Chin’s killers, Ronald Ebens and Michael Nitz, marked the first time the Civil Rights Act was used to prosecute a crime against an Asian American person. It sparked a rallying cry for stronger federal hate crime legislation.

Vincent Chin was a 27-year-old draftsman living near Detroit. On a June night in 1982, he and a group of friends went out to celebrate his wedding, which was just few days away.
At a bar he crossed paths with Ronald Ebens and Michael Nitz, two auto workers angry about recent layoffs which were widely blamed on Japanese imports. That encounter lead to Vincent’s death.
Gary Koivu was with Vincent that night, and he recently came to StoryCorps with his wife, Kim, to remember his childhood friend.
The federal case against Vincent Chin’s killers, Ronald Ebens and Michael Nitz, marked the first time the Civil Rights Act was used to prosecute a crime against an Asian American person. It sparked a rallying cry for stronger federal hate crime legislation.

On June 12, 2016 a lone gunman killed 49 people at the Pulse Nightclub in Orlando, Florida.Among those killed was Deonka Drayton. She was 32.
Deonka left behind a young son and her co-parent, Emily Addison. At StoryCorps, Emily sat down to remember her.
There were hundreds of people at Pulse the night of the shooting, and some were able to escape in time.

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On July 20, 2012, a gunman shot and killed 12 people in a packed movie theater in Aurora, Colorado. One of the victims was Alex Sullivan. He was celebrating his birthday at the movies that night — something he had done since he was a small child. Alex and a group of friends planned to see a midnight showing of the latest Batman film, just as he turned 27.

Five years later, his parents, Tom and Terry Sullivan, sat down at StoryCorps to remember him.

On July 20, 2012, a gunman shot and killed 12 people in a packed movie theater in Aurora, Colorado. One of the victims was Alex Sullivan. He was celebrating his birthday at the movies that night — something he had done since he was a small child. Alex and a group of friends planned to see a midnight showing of the latest Batman film, just as he turned 27.
Five years later, his parents, Tom and Terry Sullivan, sat down at StoryCorps to remember him.

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One night, in October 2015, Asma Jama went out for dinner with her family at an Applebee’s restaurant in Coon Rapids, Minnesota. Asma, who is Somali American and Muslim, was wearing a hijab, as she always does.

While Asma was talking with her cousin in Swahili, a woman named Jodie Bruchard-Risch, who was seated nearby, told her to speak English or go back to her country. When Asma responded to say that she was a U.S. citizen, the woman smashed a beer mug across Asma’s face. She was rushed to the hospital and required 17 stitches in her face, hands and chest.

Bruchard-Risch pleaded guilty to felony assault charges and served time in jail for the crime. After the trial, her sister, Dawn Sahr, contacted Asma online and they struck up a correspondence.

One night, in October 2015, Asma Jama went out for dinner with her family at an Applebee’s restaurant in Coon Rapids, Minnesota. Asma, who is Somali American and Muslim, was wearing a hijab, as she always does.
While Asma was talking with her cousin in Swahili, a woman named Jodie Bruchard-Risch, who was seated nearby, told her to speak English or go back to her country. When Asma responded to say that she was a U.S. citizen, the woman smashed a beer mug across Asma’s face. She was rushed to the hospital and required 17 stitches in her face, hands and chest.
Bruchard-Risch pleaded guilty to felony assault charges and served time in jail for the crime. After the trial, her sister, Dawn Sahr, contacted Asma online and they struck up a correspondence.
At StoryCorps, Dawn and Asma met in person for the first time.

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Francine Anderson grew up in rural Virginia during the 1950s. It was the Jim Crow South and “Whites Only” signs punctuated the windows of many businesses. Francine came to StoryCorps to talk about one night when she became aware of what those signs meant for her family.

Editor’s note: This story contains a quote where a racial slur is used.

Francine Anderson grew up in rural Virginia during the 1950s. It was the Jim Crow South and “Whites Only” signs punctuated the windows of many businesses. Francine came to StoryCorps to talk about one night when she became aware of what those signs meant for her family.
Editor’s note: This story contains a quote where a racial slur is used.

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You may recall the voice of Dr. William “Lynn” Weaver from a StoryCorps interview he did back in 2007, where he talked about his father, Ted Weaver — the most important man in his life.

He later came back to StoryCorps to remember someone else who had a huge influence on him: his 7th grade science teacher, Mr. Edward O. Hill.
In the fall of 1964, Weaver was 14 years old and about to start his sophomore year of high school in Knoxville, Tennessee, when, along with 13 other black students, he integrated previously all-white West High School.

At StoryCorps, he talks about what happened on his first day at West High.

You may recall the voice of Dr. William “Lynn” Weaver from a StoryCorps interview he did back in 2007, where he talked about his father, Ted Weaver — the most important man in his life.
He later came back to StoryCorps to remember someone else who had a huge influence on him: his 7th grade science teacher, Mr. Edward O. Hill.
In the fall of 1964, Weaver was 14 years old and about to start his sophomore year of high school in Knoxville, Tennessee, when, along with 13 other black students, he integrated previously all-white West High School.
At StoryCorps, he talks about what happened on his first day at West High.

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Maggie Marquez and Jessi Silva grew up in the desert town of Marfa, Texas in the 1950s. At the time, segregation of Latino and white students was not legal. However, Marfa’s school system — like many others in the Southwest — practiced de facto segregation, in which Latino and white children attended different schools.

In Marfa, Latino children attended the Blackwell School. Many of the students spoke Spanish as their first language.

Both Maggie and Jessi were students at Blackwell. They came to StoryCorps to remember the day their school banned students from speaking Spanish in a ceremony called the “burial of Mr. Spanish.”

In 2007, a group of Blackwell alumni, including Maggie and Jessi, returned to the school grounds, where they buried a Spanish dictionary and dug it up in a symbolic ceremony to “unearth Mr. Spanish.”

In recent years, a local organization, the Blackwell School Alliance — in partnership with Marfa Public Radio — is collecting oral histories featuring the voices of former students.

Maggie Marquez and Jessi Silva grew up in the desert town of Marfa, Texas in the 1950s. At the time, segregation of Latino and white students was not legal. However, Marfa’s school system — like many others in the Southwest — practiced de facto segregation, in which Latino and white children attended different schools.
In Marfa, Latino children attended the Blackwell School. Many of the students spoke Spanish as their first language.
Both Maggie and Jessi were students at Blackwell. They came to StoryCorps to remember the day their school banned students from speaking Spanish in a ceremony called the “burial of Mr. Spanish.”
In 2007, a group of Blackwell alumni, including Maggie and Jessi, returned to the school grounds, where they buried a Spanish dictionary and dug it up in a symbolic ceremony to “unearth Mr. Spanish.”
In recent years, a local organization, the Blackwell School Alliance — in partnership with Marfa Public Radio — is collecting oral histories featuring the voices of former students.

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StoryCorps Legacy gives people with serious illnesses the chance to share their stories.

At Grady Hospital in Atlanta, Christopher Harris recorded his memories from the early days of the AIDS epidemic.

In the early 80s, his marriage fell apart after he came out as gay. He was diagnosed with HIV in 1988. At the time, there was only one drug approved to treat the disease, and a diagnosis often meant a death sentence.

With StoryCorps, Harris remembered how he came to work with the Atlanta Buyers Club, which distributed medications from the black market to people with HIV before the drugs had been approved by the FDA.

StoryCorps Legacy gives people with serious illnesses the chance to share their stories.
At Grady Hospital in Atlanta, Christopher Harris recorded his memories from the early days of the AIDS epidemic.
In the early 80s, his marriage fell apart after he came out as gay. He was diagnosed with HIV in 1988. At the time, there was only one drug approved to treat the disease, and a diagnosis often meant a death sentence.
With StoryCorps, Harris remembered how he came to work with the Atlanta Buyers Club, which distributed medications from the black market to people with HIV before the drugs had been approved by the FDA.

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Vince Cantu and Joe Galloway were childhood friends in the tiny town of Refugio, Texas. After graduating high school, they didn't see each other for years, until they met in a place they didn’t expect.

Vince Cantu and Joe Galloway were childhood friends in the tiny town of Refugio, Texas. After graduating high school, they didn't see each other for years, until they met in a place they didn’t expect.

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In 2017, Heather Heyer was killed while protesting against a white nationalist rally in Charlottesville, Virginia. Her supervisor from the law office she worked in, Alfred Wilson, sat down with her mother, Susan Bro, to remember her.

AW: Heather was very honest with me and told me, ’I don’t type. I’ve never worked in an office. All I’ve done all my life is bartend or waitress.’

SB: So you took a chance.

AW: Yeah. She could communicate with anyone. And, you know, I’m a black male and I might walk out to meet a client and Heather would notice that sometimes they didn’t shake my hand, and that would just infuriate her. And I’m like, ’Where does she get this from?’ Because she grew up in this little small place that’s not that diverse.

SB: She comes from a long line of stubborn people — stubborn and opinionated and not afraid to say so.

That day of the rally, what time did I call you from the hospital?

AW: About two o’clock. I remember my wife told me, ’Oh my God, Alfred. Do you see what happened on the TV?’ And she didn’t know that I was on the phone talking to you. I remember thinking, ’She’s going to tell me that Heather’s hurt.’ But you didn’t tell me that. And then everything was so quiet like somebody had shut the volume control off on the world.

SB: For me, losing my daughter was like, you’ll have a lot of tears one time then you’ll go numb for awhile. And, uh, I’m glad you’re finally able to let some of yours out because you worried me there for awhile.

AW: Yeah. In May, I was going to have two kids graduating at the same time, and all I could think was I wanted her to be there.

SB: Yeah.

AW: But one of the plus sides was when you showed up to the graduation party.

SB: Your family was very welcoming but I kept thinking, ’Heather’s the one that should be here.’

AW: Yeah.

SB: For me, grief is like standing in the shallows of the ocean, knee-deep in the water. Every so often a wave will wash over. And so I allow myself to cry and be really sad while that wave is there. But I know that it will go away, and that’s what gets me through.

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During the 1968 Mexico City Olympics, many black athletes were called to protest racial inequality. Not all were able to do so. That was the case for Mel Pender, a 31-year-old track star in the U.S. Army, who was pulled from the jungles of Vietnam to compete.

During the 1968 Mexico City Olympics, many black athletes were called to protest racial inequality. Not all were able to do so. That was the case for Mel Pender, a 31-year-old track star in the U.S. Army, who was pulled from the jungles of Vietnam to compete.

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In 1969, Civil Rights leader Edwin Pratt was assassinated in his own home with his wife and daughter, Miriam, present. Miriam Pratt and her godmother Jean Soliz came to StoryCorps to remember the aftermath.

In 1969, Civil Rights leader Edwin Pratt was assassinated in his own home with his wife and daughter, Miriam, present. Miriam Pratt and her godmother Jean Soliz came to StoryCorps to remember the aftermath.